


Pressing Reports

by kaileeyp



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Budding Love, Falling In Love, Fluff, Found Poetry, History, M/M, Romance, War, look at my boys, super cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 04:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15856209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaileeyp/pseuds/kaileeyp
Summary: "A large, strong fame could get a mech far on a battle field, but a spark-deep talent for wielding words could bring a mech a revolution. Thankfully, Megatron was gifted with both attributes".Reviewing a simple set of data reports turns into something much more interesting when Soundwave stumbles upon something unexpected.





	Pressing Reports

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, 
> 
> I have been bitten by the plot bunny again. I don't really know where this one came from, it just appeared in my head and I had to write it down for you folks! 
> 
> I do not own Transformers, I just like to play with their story lines!
> 
> Read further to enjoy a simple Soundwave/Megatron romance origins one-shot! Enjoy!

In retrospect, it was a pitifully simple mistake to make. So simple, that it was almost an insult to Megatron’s higher intelligence that it even occurred. It had begun innocently enough, with reviewing a set of data reports.

Megatron grimaced as he thumbed through the datapad. His helm was rested lazily on his servo, which was propped up on his desk by an elbow. Half slumped over his desk, Megatron was thankful for his private office, away from prying optics. A half consumed-cube of high-grade sat to his left, as well as a haphazard pile of progress reports.   
Reviewing reports was a simple (albeit dry) task. All Megatron really had to do was read through the progress of the Nemesis, Energon levels, signal frequency patterns, energy consumption, maintenance, and so on. While it was not the most engaging work, it felt good to stay updated on the comings and goings of the densely populated war-ship. On occasion, Soundwave would take the time to include small blurbs of the most recent gossip traveling around the Decepticons. The rumours themselves were rarely true, but they amused Megatron, so Soundwave made sure to supply the warlord with an overview of the most entertaining pieces in each report. 

Megatron appreciated Soundwave’s reports for more than just the gossip updates. Each and every report from Soundwave came on time (if not early), stocked with rich details and anecdotes for each pattern and observation, with crucial elements flagged for observation. Soundwave’s reports also came with suggested next steps, calculated recommendations, and graphed prospects for future energon supply and usage. Every report that came from Soundwave was a work of art, logistically speaking. Even Megatron’s distaste for reviewing reports could be quelled by the tactile nature of Soundwave’s records. 

Perhaps, Megatron had been spoiled by Soundwave’s reports. This realization came to Megaton as he continued to thumb over Starscream’s first reports in almost a vorn. The information had been haphazardly thrown together and shoved into a datapad, before being gracelessly delivered to Megatron’s office (along side a few insults and heavy-handed critiques). Megatron realized that he had indeed been spoiled by Soundwave’s excellent aptitude in data-manipulation. 

A sigh heaved from Megatron’s intakes as he paused to scrub a servo over his dim optics. His servo dropped to pinch at his nasal ridge for just a moment, before reflexively reaching across the desk to his high-grade. Reading Starscream’s reports was near intolerable. The deeper Megatron read into each report, the more tangled the webs of data became, and the more the warlord could envision his servos squeezing around that seeker’s throat. 

Megatron had been stuck reading poorly attempted reports for some time now. Technically, it had all been his idea in the first place. After Soundwave suffered a grievous amount of damage during battle (from the jaws of that pit-spawn, lopsided abomination of a Cybertronian, Grimlock), Megatron insisted that the Third in Command take some time to rest completely. Despite Soundwave’s persistence, Megatron banned the telepath from even laying optics on a spreadsheet of data. At the time, it had felt like a good idea. The telepath was always working so hard, it only made sense to allow him some time to recover and focus on himself (and his six needy creations – all of which became especially clingy after Grimlock got his disgusting maws on the Communications officer). It had all seemed like such a grand idea, until Starscream’s first round of reports came in.   
Megatron re-focused his optics on the datapad… when had he even stopped reading? He gave his helm a shake, then noticed the fine webbing of cracks that had formed along the side of the datapad. He sighed in defeat and released his damagingly tight grip on the pad, then placed it to the side with the other, half shattered reports. Apparently, Megatron had developed a new talent to partially destroy whatever was in his servo the moment that he thought of Grimlock’s teeth sinking with ease through the armour on Soundwave’s legs. The image lingered in his helm for a moment longer. He couldn’t quite forget the way that Soundwave’s fingers had curled into the organic planet’s dirt… how he pressed his mask to the mud as his frame spasmed. The cube of high-grade in Megatron’s gip shattered. 

A stream of curses left Megatron’s mouth. With a defeated sigh, the Warlord started to pick at the shards of glass, before entirely giving up and leaving his desk to find a new seat. The reports would have to wait for another time. For the moment, Megatron decided that he needed to (at least partially) quell the rage festering under his plating. He lowered himself into a more comfortable chair, then piled the remaining, un-shattered, reports on a small table next to him. A brief rummage in his sub-space revealed another datapad. This datapad, however, was quite different. 

Physically, the pad looked entirely the same as the others. However, the inside was stocked full of Megatron’s archived secrets; his writings. It was well known before the war that Megatron was a skilled public speaker. His words held such power because he wrote them himself. Many long nights hidden in the depths of Kaon’s mines were spent writing speeches, lectures, debates, and (on occasion) poetry. Megatron contributed much of his success and power to his spoken and written word. A large, strong fame could get a mech far on a battle field, but a spark-deep talent for wielding words could bring a mech a revolution. Thankfully, Megatron was gifted with both attributes. 

Megatron scrolled through his private archives. He had them organized by date, starting with his original works, which had been written under the surface of Kaon. They were sharp, aggressive writings on the political misgivings of Cybertron. Long-winded critiques of the Senate flowed into stabbing remarks on a frantic, functionalist society.   
As the civil disputes turned to war, so did Megatron’s archives. His words grew violent, his poems short, destructive, and deeply stark in nature. He wrote of agony, glory, rage, and battle. As the war dredged on, and the soldiers exhausted, Megatron’s writing followed suit. He found new muses to write on, outside of his militant focus. The planet Earth brought up much to explore through debate and poetry. Most recently, Megatron couldn’t help but notice a new pattern, given to him (unwittingly) by a living muse. It was rare for Megatron to find himself enraptured enough in a mech to write about them. The first time such a phenomenon had occurred was when he had the displeasure of meeting Optimus Prime. His archives were stocked full of scalding reviews and rage-steeped war cries for stellar cycles. This was… different. 

Megatron would never consider himself a gentle mech. However, there was something serene in the gentle, flowing sprawls of poetry he had recently added to his archives. His writings explored the contours of gentle up-sweeping audio-fins. His words told of a steady servo in both firing weapons and cradling the smallest of sparklings. Poems traced the face and optics he had never seen, with the un-knowing wonder of a blind mech reaching out to feel what he was unable to see. Studies on telepathy, and the burdens and gifts it brought were well documented. Most commonly, the words wrapped together to form a close ally, a trusted companion, and an unyielding courage in the face of war. The tales weaved together to depict a mech, made neither for violence nor war, but standing atop with the Leviathans, none-the-less. A name was not tied with this mech… but Megatron knew who he wrote of, and no one else would ever lay optics upon his writings. It was a safe outlet for otherwise risky war-time thinking. 

Megatron picked away at some recent editions. He edited the words, stitched them together, then smoothed over them with a watchful optic. Satisfied with his final work, Megatron read it over, a smile tugging at the sides of his mouth. 

A ping disrupted his focus. Expecting another report from Starscream, Megatron wilted in his seat. Upon examining the sender of the message, Megatron immediately straightened and placed his datapad to the side. It was Soundwave. He reviewed the message that followed:

::Soundwave: discharged from the medbay. I am functioning optimally enough to return to work, if you wish, My Lord::. 

Megatron smirked at the formal language in the message. His plating subconsciously relaxed and released its clamping tightness from around his frame. Soundwave had finally been discharged, that was very good news. He thoughtfully pieced together his response. 

::Soundwave, I am glad to hear you are well. You are not to return to your regular work shifts yet, I do not want you to strain yourself and return to the medbay. Report to your quarters, I will bring you some reports to sort through and re-submit once they are in better order::. 

There was a pause, then:   
::Acknowledged::. 

Megatron smiled. Soundwave was on his peds again and now Megatron could pass off Starscream’s horrible reports to the more skilled data analyst. It had suddenly turned into a very good afternoon. 

The warlord gathered the reports around him before heading out of his quarters. The walk down the hall to Soundwave’s quarters was not very long. Most other Mecha on the Nemesis lived on lower floors. However, being the top three officers, Soundwave, Starscream, and Megatron all had quarters on the highest living floor. Shortly down the hall, Megatron paused at a familiar door, then gave it a soft knock. Immediately, the door slid open for the Warlord. 

Soundwave stood just inside his quarters. He gave Megatron a polite nod, then silently gestured with a servo for the larger mech to enter. 

As he stepped into the room, Megatron’s optics slid over Soundwave’s frame. His optics caught at the remnant weld marks laced around the TIC’s legs and torso. The marks were mostly healed, if a little fresh, but they had yet to be buffed out. The way in which Soundwave dipped his helm to the floor gave Megatron reason to suspect that the Telepath was ashamed of the repair marks. It was likely that Soundwave was still too sore to crouch down and properly buff out the weld ridges, thus, it would have to wait until his internals had healed a bit more. However, once the telepath was able to buff out the scars, it was unlikely that there would be any remaining marks. Megatron had to school a smile from his faceplates, Soundwave really was a lucky mech. 

“I am glad to see you back on your peds,” Megatron habitually fell into his regular brisk tone of voice, “we were rather worried for you”. The Warlord realized, in retrospect, that by ‘ _we_ ’ he meant ‘ _I_ ’. 

Soundwave politely dipped his helm as both mechs easily fell back into their typical every-day way of interacting. 

“Megatron: has reports for Soundwave to re-organize?”, the blue mech inquired. At the questioning, Megatron offered out the stack of datapads for the telepath to take. Soundwave accepted the reports. If he noticed the webbed cracks covering a few of the datapads, he didn’t show any awareness of it. 

“In your absence, Starscream had to write all the reports,” Megatron began, “as he was the only mech with clearance enough to access all the information. So… I apologise in advance”. A gentle tingle of amusement seemed to gather in Soundwave’s field before it was quickly cleared again. 

“Soundwave: Will fix the reports for your viewing,” was the simple answer. Megatron was familiar enough with Soundwave’s monotone voice to pickup the thread of amusement that it carried. As if re-assured by the voice, Megatron stepped forward and reached out to place a heavy, yet gentle servo on Soundwave’s shoulder. The blue mech paused and looked up to Megatron for a moment, a flicker of surprise became evident in his field. 

“I am glad to see you feeling better,” Megatron’s voice dropped to a carry a genuine soothing note, “I was very worried for you. I don’t know what we would do without you”. Once again, he internally noted his ability to exchange ‘ _we_ ’ for ‘ _I_ ”. He dismissed this train of thought before giving the mech’s shoulder a warm squeeze and stepping back.   
Soundwave’s field buzzed frantically for a moment before the telepath pulled it back in to its usual orderly state. He bobbed his helm thankfully, as he found himself for an utter loss for words. 

“I will leave you to those reports,” Megatron said as he backed into the hallway, “Don’t overdo it, you still need rest and I don’t need you tiring yourself back into the medbay”. With his gentle warning put in place, Megatron turned and walked away. 

Soundwave stood in his doorway for a long moment, datapads in-hand, before shaking his helm and wandering to his desk. For a moment, he observed the stack of reports, then he spread them out into even piles based upon date. It wouldn’t take too long to sort through and re-organize the information in them. He was made for information processing, picking through a few messy reports and re-sorting them would be easy work. His fingers rested on the last datapad. He turned it over in his servos for a moment, puzzled. It was not marked with the correct solar date, as the others were. This datapad was marked with a very old, very interesting pre-war date. It must have been some error in the coding. With intent to track down the issue, Soundwave turned the pad on and waited for it to boot up. The slow power-up indicated that the report must have been stock full of data. Curiosity picked at Soundwave as he waited for the screen to display its information. As a mech built to process data, a mystery datapad was always exciting. He waited hungrily for the new information. 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Megatron felt as though he had forgotten something. The prickly sensation of a forgotten… something… sat under his armor. He stood just inside the doorway to his quarters, his optics rested blankly on his empty desk. Had he forgotten something? Did he leave one of Starscream’s reports in his desk? A quick sweep of the area revealed no left-over reports. The warlord heaved a sigh and returned to his more comfortable chair across his office. Did he forget to tell Soundwave something important? Or perhaps there was a meeting he was forgetting about? He raked through his processor, but nothing came up. With a slow shake of his helm, he leaned back into this seat. Perhaps, he was just so accustomed to looking through reports that an empty desk made him feel as though something was off. 

With a hum and a defeated shrug, Megatron pulled another datapad from his subspace. If he didn’t have to look through reports, perhaps he should spend the rest of his day off looking through upcoming battle strategies. He powered up the datapad, his optics still focused on something far out of reach. Despite himself, he just could not shake the feeling that something was missing… Something important. 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Soundwave had realized that they were personal archives almost instantly. The simple date transitions, the informal words, and the personal signatures sent off alarms in his helm to immediately power the datapad off and return it to Megatron. It would be completely out of line to snoop through Megatron’s personal archives. As he pondered over how he would return it to the Warlord in a polite manner, his optics began to wonder through the archived titles. 

A battle waged in his helm between respect for Megatron’s boundaries, and the itching desire for forbidden, previously un-seen data. Primus how he loved new information. He was designed to archive, to process, to guide the planet with vast uses of ancient and modern data. Through the war, his incoming data had transitioned from history, literature, science, mathematics, and communications, to war, battle specs., political figures, and his own fighting sequences. It wasn’t that information brought in from war was boring… it was all just… the same. The idea of unlocking a new supply of data, so thickly encoded, sent an excited tingle through his field. 

What would Megatron say? The warlord was always very professional around Soundwave. Despite their (very) long time spent together through war, and the mutual care and respect they held for each other, they had always kept it professional… tidy. Reading through Megatron’s personal archives would be a huge breach of their deep trust in one-another. By the time Soundwave finished brooding over how furious Megatron might be, he had already read through several of the documents. 

Literature. How long had it been since he had read and archived real, passionate, well-structured literature? His optics plunged through deeply invested critiques of Cybertronian society. Megatron had been so hopeful, so sure that the revolution would usher in a new age of peace and prosperity for more than just an elite cluster of mecha. The wistful, yet severe nature of Megatron’s prompts made Soundwave’s spark ache for what could have been. Many of Megatron’s first writings must have dated back to when he was a miner, before he even became a gladiator. Soundwave was amazed by how deeply passionate Megatron was about the pre-Decepticon revolution, even before Soundwave himself was sparked into existence. 

As Soundwave ventured deeper and deeper into the archives, the writings became more desperate, more frantic for a change. Megatron saw the war coming, he warned the world though spoken and written word, back when nobody listened. Of course, when the war did come, Megatron was the first to step into it. He had watched it come, he had pleaded for people to see it as well. When it finally arrived, he was the only one truly ready. 

Despite the guilt, Soundwave ventured further into the archives. His optics were met with something he truly did not expect to find… a poem. He had to re-set his optics twice before he could believe it. He did not know that Megatron wrote in poetry. It did not seem to match Megatron’s brisk and formal air. Despite the unlikeliness, the poem was truly beautiful. The words were so delicately pieced together, despite their violent message. Soundwave had to read through it thrice to really savour each glyph. It felt so good to read poetry again, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. 

The war came next. He watched as Megatron’s writings dipped deeper into desperation, before catapulting off into acceptance and frustration. A new vigour rose in Megatron’s words. It was a written battle cry, a final decisive sweep into the war, and into leadership. 

Soundwave was filled with utter glee when he found a copy of the first speech he ever saw Megatron perform. There it was, word for word, right in his servos. It took almost all of his willpower not to save a copy into his own archives. Reading through the old speech breathed his own memory of that day to life. He basked for a moment in the glory and hope he had felt that day. Looking back was such a funny thing. On that day, cheering among the masses, he would have never thought he would one day stand at Megatron’s side. Returning to that day both humbled and swelled Soundwave with pride. 

The occasional personal log appeared in Megatron’s archives. Nothing more than a quick journal entry, Megatron had documented where he had been, what he had done, and who he had met. Long gaps of time stood between each personal entry, usually Megatron only wrote of his personal journey when something remarkable had occurred. Soundwave had to stand from his seat when he happened upon the log Megatron had written on the very day they met. 

A flash-bang of shock and joy flared in the telepath’s field as Megatron re-accounted meeting a “ _young and mysterious mech. He cannot be much older than 20 vorns, yet he has the cool air and the intelligence of a mech far beyond his years. Most intriguing, he has a special ability, telepathy. I did not believe his claim myself, until I saw it in use. I imagine that he will be very useful in the coming solar cycles, I must keep him close. It is challenging to read his emotions through his mask and vocal modifiers… none-the-less, I can feel his burning passion and dedication to the cause every time I am in his presence. I don’t know entirely how, but this little mech will be very important_ ”. Soundwave shakily sat at his desk. He gently placed the datapad down for the first time and stared at it. 

Less than a click later, he picked it back up and hungrily swiped to the next document. It was just too good to resist.

The senate fell. Poems and cries of victory followed. Cybertron erupted into civil warfare far deeper and murkier than before. The speeches grew bleak, the debates desperate. The new Prime rose into his role. The writings snapped into furious and frustrated rage, directed to a new, hopeful Prime who had _no idea_ what he was trying to fix as he pandered to the upper-class. Frustration morphed into desolation as Cybertron collapsed. The death rates piled, the energon ran thin, the troops exhausted. Megatron’s literature bubbled down into a hopeless toil of war, and death, and failure. They awoke on Earth. New sources of energy were tapped. The Autobots and Decepticons fell into a tug-of-war stalemate. With each new entry, Megatron’s words fluctuated from bleak, “ _The war was lost for all on the day we abandoned Cybertron_ ”, to invigorated, “ _The mecha of Cybertron are what make Cybertron. So long as we can win, we will usher in a new age of prosperity for all. Planets can be repaired, Cybertron will rise again_ ”. 

Then came the unexpected. It was so sudden that Soundwave had to close the document for a click before re-opening it. He re-read the three-line poem over and over. Surely, he was reading something wrong. Perhaps, he was misinterpreting it. His optics narrowed behind his visor, then flashed bright in shock. He swiped to the next log, then the next, then the next. He put down the datapad and stepped away from his desk. When had his spark stared hammering so fast? Was this a joke? A test? Was Megatron going to appear at his door and berate him about snooping through data that he shouldn’t? Had Starscream planted something in the reports to misguide Soundwave? He returned to the datapad despite the possibilities… he had to read more, he just had to be sure. 

His servos trembled as he read on. Poems and studies all about a mech. Young, but not too young. Shiny blue plating, not gaudy like some, but simple, practical, and well maintained. Curious traits: telepathy, single-sparked creations, a vocal modifier, faceplates un-seen by the world. The words carried deep admiration and affection for this mech. Ultimate trust in the mech’s council was also clear. Copies of ancient studies on telepathy were present, some of the more challenging side effects were highlighted and tagged with questions and observations. The words poured from the datapad, carrying devotion, care, protectiveness, and a deep-seated desire to _have_. 

Soundwave paced around his office, this couldn’t be right. It was so obvious who Megatron was writing about but… Primus. Megatron was a revolutionary! He could probably have any Decepticon he wanted, why in the name of Primus would he ever choose… Soundwave? As far as Soundwave was concerned, he was just a simple data analyst turned war-time communications officer. He had no brute strength or in-grown battle specs. He had clawed his way to high command through blackmail, stubbornness, loyalty, and sheer will alone. Perhaps his differences set him apart, but he had never considered himself worthy enough to stand as Megatron’s right hand, certainly nothing more! The day that Megatron had asked him to be Third in Command, Soundwave had almost lost consciousness. This… This was so much more.

A sudden wave of dizziness struck the telepath. Shakily, he sat down and removed his mask. He pressed his servos over his faceplates. This was impossible. Despite all of the shock, he could still feel _something_ fluttering in the pits of his tanks. He shoved the bubbling excitement away, feeling such things would only lead to disappointment. He was not worthy of Megatron’s attention. There must have been some sort of mistake. Primus… How was he going to return the datapad _now_? 

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

When Megatron woke up, he remembered. 

Somehow, he had fallen asleep in his chair, his cheek rested on his servo, and the datapad held loosely in his grip. When he flickered his optics back online, the memory of receiving Soundwave’s com. suddenly hit him. He had put down his personal archives on the table next to him. Groggily, Megatron turned his helm and squinted at the table next to him. It wasn’t there. 

He had then delivered the stack of reports to Soundwave. He didn’t really sort them before delivery, he had simply grabbed all of the datapads on the table next to him and…   
Megatron jolted from his chair, a white-hot wash of panic filled his chestplates. Oh no… Oh _Primus_ this was not good. 

His peds carried him to the door of his quarters before he was even aware of it. He rushed out the door and straight into his communications officer. Soundwave, being much smaller in size, was immediately knocked onto his back. The blue mech looked dazed for a moment, then, in looking at Megatron standing over him, looked terrified. Held tightly in his clutches was a datapad. 

Without thinking, Megatron’s field switched to concern. Soundwave had just gotten out of the medbay earlier that day, knocking him around would simply not do. The warlord crouched next to Soundwave, offering out a servo. Silently, Soundwave took it, and allowed Megatron to help him back to his peds. 

“Are you alright?” Megatron’s cool voice was only betrayed by his frantic field. His optics continuously flickered back and forth between Soundwave’s visor and the familiar datapad in his servos. 

Soundwave nodded, his mask betrayed nothing, but his field was just as divided as Megatron’s. “Status: I am unharmed”. 

A long silence stretched between them before Soundwave shakily offered the archive-filled datapad back to Megatron. Megatron observed the tremor in his TIC’s servos. His spark sunk in horror, Soundwave had read it. 

Desperately trying to claw his reputation back together, Megatron accepted the datapad and tucked it securely under his arm. “I imagine that you didn’t find anything… interesting in this?”, he tried to play it as calmly and un-interested as possible. If Soundwave would play along, they could both silently agree to never speak of it again. Megatron could wipe his most recent additions from his archives (something he had never done before), and they could completely forget that anything had happened at all. 

Belatedly, Megatron realized that Soundwave had other plans. 

“Megatron’s writing: beautiful”, was the soft answer. A slight tremor carried into the telepath’s voice, it was equally disheartening as it was endearing. 

Megatron’s vocolizer seized up. He had to clear his throat before he could continue. “Did… anything in particular pique your interests?”, he tried to place his words as delicately as possible. Perhaps, if Soundwave had chosen to bring up his writing, then maybe… The idea was too wild, too good, but despite his dismissal of it, he could feel the hope lingering in his field. 

Soundwave’s answer was simple, “Yes”. He bowed his helm for a moment, then gently touched something on the side of his jaw. In an instant, his mask had retracted away, leaving his lower face bared. Megatron’s optics immediately started mapping out Soundwave’s faceplates. His optics frantically flickered across, taking in as much detail as he could. 

Once again, it was clear that Soundwave was not made for war. He had simple, delicate features, an elegance long lost to the rubble of Cybertron. Megatron’s processor instantly flooded with countless poems, sonnets, and detailed logs on the beautiful, sharp features. 

Shakily, Megatron reached up and cupped his servo over the side of Soundwave’s face. Instantly, Soundwave’s cheeks deepened in colour and warmth. Megatron, pleased by this response, prompted his TIC. 

“Visor, as well”, he murmured. Soundwave, always fast to follow a request, instantly retracted his visor. Megatron pulled in a soft vent as the warm, amber optics that met his. The unfamiliar, yet somehow so familiar, optics pooled with excitement, nervousness, and a shaky hope that only further pulled Megatron in. 

“Megatron,” Soundwave breathed. His voice, without the vocal-modulator, was surprisingly smooth, almost harmonic. Megatron’s audios perked, he wondered how that voice would ring in reciting poetry. 

Soundwave tried to duck his helm, but Megatron’s gentle servo kept his chin up. He was entirely not used to all of this attention, certainly not on his faceplates. “I am sorry. I should not have read your archives,” he began, the tremor in his voice only became more obvious without the monotone. “I understand if you are displeased, and I can only beg your forgiv-“, his voice cut off into a muffled gasp as Megatron gently placed his lips over Soundwave’s. 

Large arms pulled Soundwave’s frame into a deep embrace. For a moment, he remained entirely frozen, then that moment passed. As if thawed out by Megatron’s warm vents, Soundwave drooped into the embrace. His optics offlined and he let his servos naturally gravitate up to Megatron’s shoulders. A soft sigh was pulled from him as Megatron backed away. Gradually, he onlined his optics, they focused hazily on Megatron’s amused faceplates. 

“I believe that we have much to discuss”, Megatron habitually returned to his formal vocabulary, but his voice was softer, deeper, and somehow warmer. Soundwave gave a dizzy nod and made no move to remove himself from the larger mech’s arms. 

“Would you care to come in for a drink?”, Megatron offered. Before he could even finish his question, Soundwave was nodding frantically. He grinned, then guided the smaller mech into his quarters. 

In retrospect, it was such a simple mistake to make… That was something that Megatron could be thankful for.

**Author's Note:**

> Was that fluffy enough for you? 
> 
> As always, feel free to leave a comment or kudos. Subscribe if you are interested in reading more about these dorky bois. I love to hear your feedback, and it really fuels me to write more!   
> Have a great day!


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